


Le Tour du Monde

by mira (stellamira)



Category: Actor RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-23
Updated: 2007-08-23
Packaged: 2019-10-13 00:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17477942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellamira/pseuds/mira
Summary: After a night of drunken sex, Jared drops off the face of the Earth - until the postcards start arriving.





	Le Tour du Monde

The first time Jared fucks him it's, quite honestly, a disaster. They're both drunk off their asses, and Jared keeps slipping out – Jensen wonders how he managed to scrape together enough coordination to find Jensen's hole at all – there's too much sweat and not enough lube, and it kinda hurts, as if someone stabbed a dildo just haphazardly into Jensen's ass again and again. Jared makes the most unsexy noises Jensen's ever heard, slurs when he's talking, "ohfuckJenyou'resotight," and Jensen knows he's not much better when he listens to himself panting like a dog.

It's the most perfect night he's ever had, and Jensen comes the minute Jared wraps his hand around him. He wouldn't want to miss any of it, the whole ten minutes he remembers later.

***

Jared drops off the face of the Earth after – the very next morning, in fact, leaving half a pot of lukewarm coffee and his dirty dishes in the sink for Jensen to find, and no note – so that isn't so good, and not only because Eric starts calling him every other day in a fit of panic saying that Jared will be back in time for next season, right? Because it would suck to have Sam die again.

Jensen tells him yes, of course he will, and hangs up, cutting Eric off mid-rambling about the developments he sees for Dean in the new season, hammering down the walls around him some more – more opportunities for Jensen to cry. Great.

He spends the rest of the day pretending he's not slinking around the phone waiting for it to ring again and give him – surprise! – Jared's voice on the other end, calling from the fucking Fijis or something, sounding sun-kissed and happy.

***

Jared doesn't call, but one day the postcards start arriving. There's no text on them, no sign that they're from Jared at all, the address is in a different handwriting each time, but who the fuck else would write him empty postcards? Besides Chris, maybe, but Jensen knows for a fact that Chris is in L.A. with Steve, playing a few gigs, no way he's been in New Delhi lately.

The cards are from all over the world, laying a neat trail around the globe if Jensen sorts them by the date they were stamped rather than when they arrived, although zigzagging to the Southern hemisphere and back a few times – like Jared's going all Phileas Fogg all of a sudden. Jensen sincerely hopes it won't take him eighty days, though; they've only got about a month left and he carefully doesn't mention it to Eric. That man's nervous enough as it is.

***

Jensen grows a beard, then shaves it off again one morning after he finds a piece of tuna stuck in there _from the day before_. He goes out to a movie premiere and tries wearing something other than his trusted black shirt, but he finds a dozen e-mails in his inbox – half of which are from Mike – a day later, all linking him to websites where people comment on how ridiculous he looked, and he closes all the windows quickly, horrified, vowing to never do any experiments with clothing again.

He wonders if Jared and him ever kissed or if that just happened in his imagination, because that's one part of the night that's extremely unclear. He thinks they did, in the cab home at least, when sticking their hands inside each other's pants would've been highly inappropriate yet. He's pretty sure Jared tasted of beer – unsurprisingly, seeing how much they'd had that night – and a little like candy – also unsurprisingly, seeing how much of the stuff Jared usually eats. His tongue felt good in Jensen's mouth.

***

In the last few days the postcards have been coming closer and closer, one from Florida with an alligator in a swamp on the front, one from a beach in North Carolina. The next's from D.C., the Washington Monument at sunset, which really shouldn't make Jensen twitch, no matter now much of a phallic symbol it is. One's with a view over Lake Erie from a small town in Ohio, arriving the same day as one from back down in Memphis, THE KING LIVES. The last one's from Dallas, and that one actually makes Jensen laugh, because it isn't really a postcard but a photograph, taken with a digital camera and printed out. It's a little blurry but unmistakably Jensen's parents' house. If this turns out not to be Jared but a crazy stalker now, Jensen's pretty much screwed.

He expects Jared to move onto New Mexico next, Santa Fe, or White Sands, it'd be just the kind of fun Jared would like, riding down sand dunes on a plastic bag. Instead the next card comes from Georgetown, ancient equipment at the Firefighters Museum, and the one after from Austin, a view of 6th Street, as if Jared's... slowing down.

The card from The Alamo in San Antonio the next day isn't a surprise, but the one from Sea World after, rainbow-colored fish, is. If Jared's settling down, apparently, how on Earth is he ever gonna finish this trip?

***

It takes Jensen four more days and four more postcards, all from San Antonio, to get it. The last one has the picture of a cow standing on a dry piece of grass, looking like... well, like a cow, but also sad and lonely, like something's missing in its life – or so Jensen likes to think. He books the first flight he can find a seat for.

He changes planes in Dallas and drives all over town in San Antonio in a rental car because Jared's parents live about as far away from the airport as possible. His internal clock is fucked to hell due to the time difference, but he knows he's been on the move for about nine hours now, it's well after midnight here, and the house is dark, everybody inside already sleeping.

Jared's not answering his phone, like he hasn’t the whole time he's been away – Jensen suspects he left it in his L.A. house; that, or it was stolen somewhere in Thailand – so he picks up a handful of pebbles from the garden, feeling like a schoolboy trying to sneak out his date. He prays he's throwing them at the right window – Jared once told him that he used to live above the garage. It's a better chance of waking up the right person than ringing the bell in any case.

The pebbles are almost gone when a light goes on in the room behind the window, and a second later the window opens, Jared's head popping out. "Took you long enough."

***

Jared opens the door in his boxers and a faded blue shirt, and all thoughts of shaking him and demanding what the fuck he thought he was doing fly right out of Jensen's head. Instead he wants to kiss Jared, right here, but he's not sure if he's allowed to do that, so he settles for a very noncommittal, "Hi."

"Hey," Jared replies, leaning against the door jamb, kinda smirking. "So, you wanna come in?"

Jensen follows him upstairs to Jared's room, that is apparently still stuck in high school time, and Jensen doesn't feel so bad about the stone-throwing anymore. The room's really small, the only place to sit other than the bed would be the desk chair, but that's laden with a heap of clothes, so he sinks down onto the mattress beside Jared. They're both staring forward, the situation awkward as hell for two grown-up adults, until Jensen breaks the silence.

"Dude, you are so crazy, you know that? Did you actually see anything else besides airports?"

Jared is looking down at his hands, but Jensen can hear the amusement in his voice when he admits, "Not much."

Then things get a little blurry because it happens really fast: one moment they're just sitting there side by side, stealing glances, grinning when their eyes meet, and the next they're kissing again, open-mouthed and demanding.

And this time Jensen will make damn sure it's not his imagination.

***

The second time Jared fucks him is, from an objective point of view, infinitely better than the first. Jared slides in with one long, slow thrust, and he _stays_ there, Jensen's legs around his waist keeping him from accidentally slipping out. When he moves it doesn't hurt because they used enough lube to last for another three fucks, and the first time Jensen cries out when Jared finds his prostate, Jared takes the clue and hits it over and over.

Jared makes the same noises as the last time, but miraculously they turn Jensen on now, and he moans loud enough that Jared tells him, "Shh, shh, my family," in between laughing and kissing and nearly losing his rhythm.

It's fucking fantastic; when Jensen comes he turns his head to the side and bites the pillow not to scream. Jared follows soon after, pressing Jensen down as his arms give out, and they both lie there, blissed out and sated, though Jared is already murmuring about "round two" and "'n a minute" against Jensen's neck.

Jensen is still very fond of the first time, but this is good, too – hell, _better_ than good. He wouldn't want to miss any of it, the whole three hours he remembers later.

 

_La Fin._


End file.
